Dangling
by IcelandGirl812
Summary: "I thought he would kiss me, braced myself for it. But he only laid his palm against my chest, long fingers reaching up to my naked collarbone. Then he turned and walked away." Christmas prez for my wifey, MentalistECBM. M rating for Many good reasons.
1. Prologue

**A/N: (long note, feel free to skip) About a month or so ago, I was doing practice drabbles with this lovely woman sometimes called Mental or Betsy or Trevvy. I don't even remember how I came about one I did in response to her prompt, I just remember doing it. Well, she kinda loved it or something, and kinda made a sorta-flippant remark that she wanted the backstory on it. I made an equally flippant one that I'd make it her Christmas present.**

**Turns out, that was the best thing I could have ever done. It's been completely unreal writing this story. Probably the best writing experience of my life so far. Never before had I met characters so vibrant and demanding and bossy and vital and pushy and sure of themselves and unwilling to hear me out, let alone do a single thing I asked or suggested. They didn't just take over and run away from me like some others have before, they took complete control. And made it perfectly clear that I was only the pen to tell their story, because their story **_**would**_** be told. Their way or their way. No my way.**

**For this, I can't thank you enough, my dearest Trevvy. The rest of your gift-meaning a gooey love note cause I couldn't resist-I'mma email to you.**

**I could _not_ have done this without hyacinthgirl18. She's been my cheerleader and rock and encourager. She knows I love her.  
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**Disclaimer: SMeyer owns the names and appearances. I own all the rest. Or, excuse me, the two stars of this own the rest. *eyeroll***

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****Original prompt that inspired this following drabble, and then story - http:/bit[.]ly/g44iCl**

Was it wrong to be in love with an article of clothing?

Because, really, I was fairly certain (or as certain as fairly was) that I wasn't in love with him.

He was rude, disgusting—in the manner of hocking loogies wherever and whenever fancy struck him—and stared at my rack too often.

And yet, when he wore that damn hat, I swooned like housewives over George Clooney.

Alright, fine. I did more than just swoon. I fucked him senseless.

BUT IT WAS THE HAT'S FAULT.

If he didn't wear that hat, I wouldn't fuck him.

I suspected he knew this.

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**A/N: This'll be posted in chapters. Probably every-other-day, cause I'm fail like that.**


	2. Meet the Peep

**A/N: Two today, cause the first was short and just the prologue.**

**Disclaimer: Most of this belongs to me and the two crazies in it. The Twilight stuff doesn't, though.**

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*** **Bella's POV**

I despised, loathed, wished to burn in hell, abhorred, put a pox on, disdained, couldn't stand, detested, and felt extreme contempt for hanging clothes on a clothesline outside.

It was the most grotesque chore in the known universe.

So why was I doing it right about now?

Because Edward Cullen liked to masturbate.

And forgot to shut his blinds before doing so.

And alright, I spied on him. So what? If he didn't want anyone to see, he should've made himself a poster to hang on the back of his door that said, "SHUT BLINDS BEFORE PULLING WINKY OUT FOR PLAY TIMES".

But did he?

Noooooo.

Therefore, I was free and clear to spy and let loose my inner pervert all I wanted.

'Sides, I was curious. What teenage girl wasn't curious about guys?

And cocks, for that matter.

And guys masturbating with their cocks, for that matter-matter.

Not a one, I tell you. Not a one.

So, I spread my laundry out to cover at least one load a day (or added clean clothes to my dirty and rewashed them so I'd have enough), and trudged through the awful, grueling task of hanging them out on the clothesline.

All so I could peep through Edward Cullen's window and watch him play Cum Goes the Winky.

Really, not such a bad life. There were worse things I could be spending my time doing.

Like drugs and drinking and, help me Hercules, _shopping_.

Fortunately for my sake, I had Edward Cullen to peep on, which kept me sufficiently _busy_.

Also fortunately, his house was directly behind mine, and that house only one story tall. Of course meaning his room was at ideal peeping level.

And, when hanging out clothes, my little eyes got _the_ most prettiest view _straight_ into his bedroom.

I considered myself lucky, most indeed.

Today, all I had were white clothes. A few bras, a few panties (for the days I felt like feeling innocent), and three or so shirts.

Over the past few weeks since I'd discovered this hobby, I'd become quite the master at lengthening the process it took to hang clothes. I'd also become adept at looking as though I were engrossed, when really I was just getting my perv on.

Exiting my house by the front door—because the back door had been broken, my father thought he could fix anything under and over the moon, and we now had a glued-shut back door—I headed around the side of the house.

My basket of laundry balanced on my hip, I rocked a pair of black-cotton Daisy Dukes and a trailer-trash tank top on account of the unseasonably warm weather, and my eyes were ready for peeping.

Remember those eyes? Yeah, they just about bugged out when I rounded the corner into the backyard.

That laundry basket? Yeah, it almost flew to Mars.

Oh, the reason why? Well, because Edward Cullen, instead of being in his room bopping around to music, undressing (one of my favorites), rearranging his band and movie posters, scribbling furiously into a notebook, or (my absolute favorite) masturbating, was sitting on his windowsill.

Sitting on his windowsill with long legs and sexy bare feet hanging toward the ground.

Sitting on his windowsill in holey jeans and a _very_ thin white wife-beater.

Sitting on his windowsill in the sun with his hair becoming a beacon for planes and horny women.

Sitting on his windowsill with the rays of Vitamin D turning his ultra-thin sleeveless tee practically translucent.

Sitting on his windowsill looking _directly at _me.

His hands removed from their lounging place between his legs. Aka: in front of his package of perks.

Bracing those hands on each side of the window, he leaned back into his room, ass (and a rather nice one, at that) staying on the windowsill.

I took a moment to appreciate the full display of his oh so tasty body now in fine view.

Long legs, long torso. My grandma always had premonitions that I'd grow up to have terrible fascination with tall men. S'pose she was kinda right.

Of course, she was my grandmother on the maternal side of my family. Which didn't lend a lot of strength to her premonitions.

Since I was already on a roll of appreciating Edward Cullen's long-ness, I kept going. Long arms, _long fingers_. _Long fingers _I'd had the pleasure of seeing wrapped around his _long cock_. Slightly-too-long hair hanging about all over the place in a frustratingly endearing manner. The dude even had long eyelashes.

_He should be a super hero whose alter ego name is Long-ness Monster. Or something. Ya know._

His head and left hand disappeared into his room for a moment, before both remerging. One with a glass of something. He lifted the mystery glass to his mouth, gaze remaining fixed on me over the rim.

I tried to keep my cool. I really did. But the police chief's daughter wasn't very cool to begin with. I didn't sit at the cool table in the cafeteria. Actually, I tried my best not to eat in the cafeteria at all. Though, sometimes that plan backfired and I got detention instead. Anyway, not the point.

I wasn't especially cool to start. But I tried my damnedest to keep as much of it as I could. What with Edward Cullen staring at me and all.

"Washing your lingerie?"

My basket was blue and solid. No way he could see through it. So that had to be a guess. An annoyingly accurate guess.

But he didn't need to know that.

"Shirts." To demonstrate, I yanked one out and waved it obnoxiously.

Edward Cullen just smirked. "Your dryer suddenly break?"

"What's it to you?"

"I haven't seen you hanging out clothes before."

_Because you're usually too busy masturbating._ "Guess you recently got a new prescription for your glasses."

"I don't wear glasses."

_Except at night when reading by lamplight._ "Don't know what to tell you then."

"It's awfully warm out today." I felt his eyes brush over me like a chef basting chicken. Jerk chicken.

I snorted out a laugh without thinking about it.

"Something funny?"

"You're asking me about the _weather_?"

"Well, really that was just a lead-in to asking you if you're _cold_." His eyes settled on my rack. I glanced down and oh freaking fritters!

I'd forgone a bra today, and now anyone and everyone—namely Edward Cullen—could see that something had caused a stir in my mountain peaks.

I was pretty sure what that stir was.

_Keep your cool, keep your cool._ "Can I _help_ you, Cullen?"

"My name's Edward."

I wouldn't lie to myself. I _really_ kind of enjoyed the way he shifted the subject so easily.

"Yes, but your last name is Cullen."

"And how would you know that?"

"Please. Everybody in town knows you're Doctor Cullen's kid."

"How do you know I didn't keep my mother's name?"

"Because you were born a Cullen."

He readjusted himself on his sill, eyes still concentrated on me. "And how would you know that?"

_Because I peep on you and have seen that little secret notebook of yours proclaiming it belongs to 'Edward Cullen the first, King of Bedroomdom'. _"Because we live in a town populated by a sparse few."

"A sparse few?"

"Yeah. Like indoor plumbing in Africa."

His abrupt laugh startled me to the point of Laundry Basket almost rocketing to Mars again. "_Ouch_, Swan!"

I'd never really heard him laugh before. At least, not since we were both midgets. It was kind of girly and high-pitched. Like any second Scar would be walking over and telling the hyenas to shut up.

I appraised him with my best impression of Private-Eye Eyebrow. "How do you know my last name is Swan?"

His smirk was as close to 'touché' as I suspected I'd ever get when it came to Edward Cullen. "Please. Everybody in town knows you're Chief Swan's kid."

_I bet that isn't all this whole town knows about me. _"I'm sure they do."

To distract myself from unpleasantries, I focused instead on the mental image of me straddling Edward Cullen on his windowsill.

"Was that a gust of wind?"

"Excuse me?" What the clock was he talking about?

"Did you feel that burst of wind just now?"

"No..."

His mouth transformed into one of the sexiest grins I was positive I'd ever seen. "Oh." Sun-lightened green eyes trailed down to my boobs again. "Musta been thinking dirty thoughts about me then."

"Gah!" I threw up my free hand. "_This _is why I never talk to you, you know! You're such a filthy and disgusting pig." I turned away from him, stomped over to my clothesline, and forcefully dropped (as much as it was possible to drop with force) my laundry basket on the ground.

I refused to look at him—mostly because he was right—but I could feel his self-satisfied smirk permeating the warm air. Making its way over on the gentlest of breezes to tickle my skin.

"Fucker," I muttered under my breath.

"Who did you just tell me to fuck?"

I jumped a full foot back. "YAH!"

Edward Cullen was standing approximately three point seven inches from where I'd been standing before he'd scared the salt and pepper out of me.

"Don't sneak up on people like that! Asstard."

"Hm. Who was the 'her' you were referring to when you told me to 'fuck her'?"

"What?" Shit shit shit.

"You?" His voice dropped lower and lower, making its way toward digging to China. "Would you like me to fuck you?"

"Oh ick." I used my hands to push him farther away, since he'd edged closer and closer as he spoke. "In your dreams, hot stuff."

He straightened back up, seeming all too happy for my likes. "Well, at least you think I'm hot. Only a few steps away from some nice fucking."

"If I ever, _ever_ fuck you—which I highly doubt by the way—it'll be because of a _serious_ lapse in judgment."

His smile was big. And wide. And so smug the tiniest bit of worry that he knew I peeped on him, crowded into my conscious.

"I never lock my window."

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**A/N: Next chap Tuesday or Wednesday, depending on my level of fail this week. Tell me your thoughtsies, purdy please?**


	3. Mission: Marshmallow Fluff

**A/N: Sorta short, but ah well. To who this is for, you're the seashore to my seashells she sells.**

**To Posh, thank you for your love and for the chapter title. To Rya, I love you even more for your favoritism.  
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**Disclaimer: All that's mine is everything that's not SMeyer's.**

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**Arrogant prick bastard.

I mean, really, who holds a fucking _seminar_ in their bedroom about how to use your smell to get girls? Really?

_Really?_

As I said: arrogant prick bastard.

A term now synonymous with Edward Cullen.

Although, when I thought about it, I couldn't ever actually remember _smelling_ Edward Cullen.

We didn't run in the same circles at school, my father had long ago stopped arranging play-dates for me. The Pops and I hadn't meandered over to the Cullen house for dinner in approximately eight-to-ten years.

I'd have had no chance to get a whiff of Mostly-Grown Edward Cullen.

But still, just because I didn't know what it felt like to sniff him, didn't make it alright for him to hold a fucking class about smelling good.

My second-floor bedroom window didn't give the greatest angle into his room. Exact reason why I usually peeped from the backyard.

But it was noticeable he'd rearranged his room slightly, making space for random things doubling as chairs. I couldn't see much more than that and the _Smell Seminar _poster board, thanks to some beef patty standing near the window blocking my view.

I couldn't tell who else was in the room with him either, which was unfortunate because blackmail was an especially handy tool. Especially-especially when it came to Edward Cullen.

Damn. Now I wished Edward Cullen's _it _was the 'came' in that sentence.

Double damn, those binoculars I'd been eyeing in Newton's yesterday would've come in handy right now. _It sucks to be cheap._

Heh. Come. Handy. Sucks.

_Fuck_. This wasn't working.

I needed to be more distracted.

Correction: I needed to be more distracted by something _not_ having to do with Edward Cullen and lust.

Or... Hmm. I could just be distracted by Edward Cullen and spying on him?

Perfect.

I pitched on my black hoodie, just to feel James-Bond-slash-Jackie-Chan-ish.

Next, creeping out the front door. Not such a monumental task in itself. But, when you paired it with the fact that my father was in the living room watching some noose-tying-awful sport...

Well, let's just say it lost the ability of its easiness being compared to pie or sluts.

"Forgot marshmallow fluff at the store, Dad. Gonna walk for exercise and adventure. Be back soon."

"But what do we need marshmal—" _Slam! _The door closed on his prying questions.

Okay, maybe it was more of a _cleeck-snick_ than a _slam!_ but whatever.

I inched around the house, back pressed to paneling, wary of being spotted.

In reality... I strolled around to the backyard, not giving a singing shit if Edward Cullen or his wanna-be-smellers saw me.

There wasn't anything separating Swan-Backyard-land from Cullen-Backyard-ville besides a difference in grass heights, greenness of grass, and the stone patio that jutted out about halfway starting from their back door.

Edward Cullen's room was to the right of the back door, and approaching the corner of the house. I ducked down when I neared, waddling like a bent-over duck until I got close enough to peep in.

Boy Genius had left his window open, and the nauseating scents of the perfume counter in department stores rolled out with death-seeking vengeance.

Along with Edward Cullen's oh-so-brilliant lecture on 'How to Smell Appealing to Chicks and Their Cooters 101.'

"_Showers_, dudes! It's so easy, and worth so much."

"Showers?" someone seated somewhere in his (grossly unfair in size) room questioned, a downright disgusting amount of shock in his voice.

I bit back a snort when Edward Cullen rolled his eyes. "Yes, showers. And don't be afraid to use soaps and shit that smell like... well, something other than soaps and shit. Not _everything_ has to be generic-scented."

Some grumbles rolled across the room, and he hurried to clarify himself.

"I'm not saying buy some freaking raspberry and herb girly stuff, or borrow your mom's or sister's or anything, but there's really no need to buy off-brand non-odorized gunk."

He walked casually back and forth in a short line, appearing to think about his words. _Appearing_ was the key word there, obviously. When he had the words, or rather: when he was finished with his overdramatic pauses, his steps ceased.

"Chicks like it when you have that unique smell they categorize to you and you alone. And I've said this before: I'm not just talking about cologne here. It's not hard to appeal to their olfactory sense, guys. And the payout?" He grinned a slick, gross thing. "Fuckin' A."

Everyone's back was to me but his, so I had no qualms about standing to my full height and waving to him.

His eyes went chipmunk-round and then Chinese.

_Mission: a success._

Apparently, that was all she wrote; the lecture seemed to be over. As the guppies ambled up and out through the white-on-the-outside, dark-blue-on-the-inside door, they each handed their professor various bills.

Ugh. Figures the slime-ball would make them pay for it.

_Oh shit. Can't hold it back anymore. Snort attack here it comes._

The last beef nugget disappeared from sight, and the door made a resounding noise as it closed.

On the plus side, I'd regained control of my snort-factory once more.

Edward Cullen charged across his room and threw open his window as high as it would go. I half expected him to plant his hands on his hips, but he disappointed (yeah, right) by bracing them on the sill and leaning toward me.

"What in Phil Collins's world do you think you're doing?"

"Ooh, down puppy. I was just standing here."

"Don't spy on me!"

"I wasn't spying. I just came over to see why I hadn't been invited to the party."

"It was _not_ a party." Judging from that yummy-looking clenched—_it's not the only thing_—jaw of his, he was gritting his teeth like no tomorrow.

"Looked like a party. So I was curious."

"_Not _a party!"

"Oopsie, my bad."

"You want in next time, Sweetheart, climb _through_ the motherfucking window. Don't stand outside it like some sort of fucking stalker."

Yowza. I'd most certainly pressed a button. And I couldn't say I didn't find the resulting outcome appealing. I didn't lie to myself, after all.

I gave him a salute. While sticking my tongue out snottily.

He didn't need to know I liked the commanding tone a tad too much.

Mid-salute, he grabbed my fingers and pulled them down to the sill, covering them with his own.

"Hey!"

He snatched my other hand and repeated the process, effectively trapping me in front of him.

And also bringing me forehead-to-nose to his stooped level. I angled up slightly so we'd be on even ground, attempting to employ tippy-toes but having to settle for just neck.

"Was this window locked when you came nosing about?"

"I'm not going to play along and answer your rhetorical questions."

He brushed my words off with a flick of his eyelashes. "It wasn't. Remember that."

"Think you've mentioned something along those lines before."

His fingers flexed over my hands. "Remember it."

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**A/N: Cross your fingers for Thursday update? Oh, and if you're reading, know that I heart you.**


	4. Sundae of Misfortune

**A/N: Rather short and really late. Cause I'm fail. Forgive me, Trevvy. And know you brighten my days by being you.  
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**Rach, you'll never know how happy I am to have you as my twin-twinny and go-to problem-solver/fixer.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any Goldfish crackers. Or the rights to Twilight.**

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I hated town events.

My father knew this. And yet, he was forcing me to go to this one.

I suspected it was because I'd taken too long talking to Riley our paperboy yesterday morning. I couldn't help it; the blondie was a mega-watt flirt.

But Chief Swan was paranoid about boys. He got questioning when I _waved_ at one, let alone held an, albeit short, conversation with one.

Made it very difficult to be such a peeping pervert, ya know?

And so now, I was payback's bitch.

I was a bitch to a bitch.

"You know, you don't have to be such a pouty whiner-pooper."

I refused to look at my father. "I'm not a pouty whiner-pooper."

"You totally are."

Oh my fuck. "Seriously, Dad? How old are you?"

"You know how old, smart-aleck. And don't you dare tell a soul in town."

"The town can do math, geezer."

"Don't make me turn this—" My ears perked up in hope. "No, strike that." Dammit. "Don't make me tell Mrs. Newton you'll help with the school carnival this year."

Even though I knew he wouldn't be able to see it, I turned my iciest glare of death on the man who'd contributed his swimmers to my existence. "You do, and one morning you'll wake up _completely _hairless."

Silence rang throughout the (really noisy) truck as we each glared at each other without eye-contact.

In the end, my father grunted and pulled into a parking space just on the outskirts of the town's square. He turned The Blob off, and we exited with only three bangs and clangs, heading toward sullen doom.

Excuse me: the annual Mango Fest.

Completely stupid in the first place. We lived in _Washington State_, for Lincoln's nuts. That shit didn't grow here.

And, to put a nice, neat cherry on my sundae of misfortune, I'd heard it from an extremely reliable source (meaning gossip going around at school), that Mama Cullen was none too happy with her son's grade in world history. Her punishment of choice: making him be Timmy the Town-Event Trooper.

If I wasn't being dragged to the same thing, I'd have laughed at his poor fortune.

All this, of course, meant I was likely to run into him here. Even if Mama Cullen had ceased adorning us with casseroles and dinner invites since it happened, she'd still stop and yak with my father. They were still semi-friends who talked.

Which meant, judging by how well I knew Edward Cullen—well, sorta-kinda; I knew what his magic wand looked like, at least—he'd do something flirty or suggestive or boyish, and I'd most likely be getting dragged to _more_ of these things by The Overly-Protective Paranoid Chief.

Not very happy thoughts, mine.

"You want me to sneak you into the jumpy bounce?"

I cracked an accidental smile. "What an illegal thing for the Chief of Police to say."

"I'd only commit illegal acts for you." He reached over and gave me a half-hearted noogie.

Sometimes, my dad was alright.

Okay, sometimes he was _more_ than alright.

Most of the time, he was even more than more-than-alright.

As far as dads went, I had a pretty cool one.

"So you're saying, you'd go over there and steal me a funnel cake?"

He followed my eyes to the stand advertising them. "No way."

Never mind, forget what I said before.

"But why not?"

"Be—" His words halted as his steps did.

I stopped beside him, wondering what was up.

"Well look who it is." A smile in his voice and on his face, he sidestepped around a bench.

Mutely, I followed. Knowing what was up now and pretty much dreading it.

"Esme."

He gave her a bear hug as she giggled.

It was widely known that Mama Cullen was a bit of an inherent flirt. It was just part of her nature that she flirted with anyone and everyone. Despite being in a sickeningly happy marriage.

I sighed when they started talking about useless shit like they hadn't seen each other in years.

"Hello, Bella. Lovely evening tonight, isn't it?"

_Oh sure. Abandon me to Edward Cullen so you can chit-chat with his mom. Nice, Dad. Real nice._

"Yup. Super night."

He moved a subtle but deliberate step away from our parents. "Whatsa matter? Not happy to be here?"

"You ask a lot of questions."

"So?" He shrugged, not looking innocent at all. "I'm a curious kind of person."

"I bet."

"I like your top. Good color."

I glanced down at what I was wearing: dark blue tank with a short jean jacket in observance of the cooling weather.

Paired with only regular jeans, it was a pretty dull outfit, in actuality. Too much blue.

The only reason he probably complimented it at all?

This tank top had a built-in bra. Of the slightly-pushy variety.

"Thanks." I dragged out the word rudely.

"Not big on conversation, hmm?"

No, not particularly. At least, not when too much acknowledging you with my father around could lead to me having to help with the school carnival.

But I was a good girl and only shrugged as my response.

"What if..." Another purposeful step away. This one farther from our parents, but also closer to me. "What if I bought you a funnel cake? Would you talk to me then?"

"That's not playing fair. Dirty briber."

He laughed softly. "You a fan of funnel cakes?"

"_More_ questions?"

And more gaze traveling to my boobs.

Somewhat annoyed, I pointed a hasty finger in some direction. "I'm sure someone here has some that are much better."

He glanced away, eyes watching some chick's ass as she walked by.

I took the opening to scope out his nicely tight jeans. And the bulge they showcased.

I'd seen that bulge as more than a bulge.

I'd seen that more-than-a-bulge bulge without fabric covering it.

It was a _good_ bulge.

I assumed the chick had disappeared, because his eyes returned to me and the girls.

"Want a hot chocolate to go with your funnel cake?"

"No." I made it two syllables, _nuh-oh_.

Once more, his focus wandered from my chest, to some ass clicking past in heels.

My foot longed to tap by the time he met my eyes again. "Would you like me to just turn around for you?"

"Would you mind?"

In my head, I called him a lovely name and stomped off.

On Earth, I rolled my eyes and plastered a smile on my face when I saw my dad heading toward us.

"Hey, kids." He appraised Edward Cullen suspiciously. "You having fun?"

"Oh loads." More desire for foot-tapping.

"I was just trying to persuade Bella to let me buy her a funnel cake."

My father raised an eyebrow, and I suddenly had cause to wonder where Mama Cullen had gone. "Persuade?"

"She refused my offer. I was trying to change her mind."

I held my breath for about five seconds, hoping to hell my dad hadn't seen the loaded look Edward Cullen had sent me.

Or heard the loaded tone of his voice and hidden message in his words.

"Oh. Was she?" My dad gave me a proud, _good girl_ face.

"Seems as if I've lost my mother. I better go find her."

Oh thank fuck. Not the smoothest of exits, but what did I care?

He nodded to me and the Chief, then turned on his heel and fled.

"I don't know about you, but I think that boy's a little strange." My dad shook his head.

I didn't comment.

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**A/N: Er... more should be here soon? Yah, that's vague enough to suffice. And thank you for reading, if you still are.**


	5. The Land of Lust

**A/N: Short, but not late. Small favors.**

**To my favorite brand of whorey weird, you know I heart you, whacko.**

**Rya, you're truly a doll I'd be lost without. Posh, you calm me down without even trying.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own any Cherry Coke. Or Twilight.**

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"I will disown you! The Spice Girl's _rule_."

"They promoted cheating on your girlfriend!" I downed a sip of my Cherry Coke. "'If you wanna be my lover, ya gotta get with my friends'? Really? Come _on_. Whores."

Alice gasped like the drama queen she was. "That's it, I'm totally..."

I got worried when she didn't continue.

And when her mouth didn't close.

"Yo. Decal. What gives?" I waved a hand in her general direction.

"Edward Cullen is staring at you."

Say what?

A glance over my shoulder proved her to be right.

Edward Cullen sat amidst his circle of friends, at the only circular table in the cafeteria.

I still believed someone bailed class extra early so they could snag _that_ table.

Instead of joining in with his friends though, he was—just as Decal had said—staring at me. Not really smirking, but not frowning either.

In fact, I couldn't really tell what he was doing. Or why he was staring at me.

Scoffing out a breath, I showed him my favorite bird and turned back to my taco salad and Cherry Coke.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but did you or did you not just tell Edward to fuck off?"

"Yup."

She reached across the table to slap the side of my head. "Idiot!"

"What the nutcracker, Decal?"

"You should have told him to fuck _you_." She huffed, putting her hands on her hips even though she was sitting. "Duh."

"I appreciate your concern in my sex life, but—Oh wait, no I don't."

"He's gorgeous, imbecile. And anyone that gorgeous _has_ to be a good lay. It's the rule of the world."

"I heard Brad Pitt's a crappy shag. That Angelina and Jen got so bored with him they did each other."

"Brad Pitt's not gorgeous though."

"Good point."

"And stop reading trashy magazines." She snarfed a Frito. "They kill brain cells."

"I don't _read_ them. When I'm at the grocery waiting in line because Mrs. Seltzer has to count out exact change, I _happen_ to see headlines."

"Uh-huh. Of course." Her eyes deserted me again. "He's still staring at you, ya know."

Getting annoyed now, I swiveled to straddle my bench, giving Edward Cullen a double-shot of my special finger.

"_Miss Swan!_"

Alice started snickering while I cussed under my breath as Principal Greene approached.

"You _just _finished a week of lunch detention yesterday, and today I find you making lewd gestures in the cafeteria?" His pitch reached opera-woman heights on the third syllable of _cafeteria_.

"It wasn't a _lewd_ gesture. Just the finger."

"Miss Swan!" Those were P-Greene's favorite words of admonishment. As if my name said in 19th-century fashion would make me instantly contrite.

Exactly: _As if_.

"Okay, _rude_, maybe. But so not lewd."

I pictured little cartoonish poles of smoke and fire popping out of PG's ears. "My office. _Now_, Miss Swan!"

Out of pure reflex, I flicked my eyes to Edward Cullen as I rose from my table. His eyebrows were raised, but his face otherwise blank.

"Catch ya later, Cookie," Alice waved tauntingly.

I mouthed to her what she could do with her cookie.

[~|~|~]

"Isabella?"

My eyes rolled toward the sky, noting the impending gloom. "Yeeees?"

"Hold please," the woman instructed, very businesslike.

I'd stopped halfway between my driveway and house when my cell rang, still wondering what I wanted to do for the rest of the day.

Homework had been done during my free period, and dinner was leftovers from last night.

_Guess I _could_ do some laundry..._

_And some peeping._

I looked at the sky again, debating the laundry route.

"I got a call from a Mrs. Cope today."

Uh-oh. "Hi, Daddy!"

He groaned at the other end. "You brought out the daddy. What'd you do this time?"

"You make me sound like such a bad seed..."

Silence.

"_Nice_, father! Way to stick up for your one and only child."

"Hey, if the shoe fits, you might as well wear the damn thing."

"What kind of a parent are you?"

"You're stalling." I could picture his bush-wagons lifted in un-amusement, the steely nothing-makes-me-laugh cop face in place.

"Me? Stall? No way."

"Just tell me what you did." I heard the squeaking of a chair, pictured him bracing himself in his office-not. "I can take it."

"Okay, so I might have flipped someone off in the cafeteria, but—"

"You flipped someone off in _school_?"

"...I might have."

He pulled his warning voice out of the attic. "Bella."

"Pea-Greene has it out for me! I _swear_ he does, Dad!"

"Yeah, sure."

"He does!"

"We'll talk about this later, when I can see your face. I'll be home a little late, though."

I sighed, toeing a clumpy weed with my classic black Converse. "Fine."

We hung up at the same time, and I glanced back to the sky. Dark clouds, not moving much, and mildly fluffy.

The smell of coming rain swam around in the air.

_Maybe no laundry today._

Trooping inside, I kicked off my shoes almost instantly. Barefoot was usually always better.

Next to get discarded was the book bag.

I added a comfier jacket and my current read, and headed back outside.

Just because I didn't have any laundry to do today, didn't mean I couldn't enjoy some reading time in the (mostly) nice weather.

And hey, if I happened to stumble across Edward Cullen masturbating, so be it.

I had no power of control over these things.

With a spring in my step, I rounded the corner into my backyard.

And found my hopes trampled on by a pack of bulls.

Edward Cullen wasn't on his bed masturbating, or in his room at all.

Nope, he was sitting on that damn windowsill again.

"Hey."

I gave him a head-nod of acknowledgment, but didn't feel up to speaking.

_Why had he all the sudden stopped masturbating? Weren't teenage guys supposed to masturbate like forty times a day?_

"I beat you home."

"Good for you." _Now why aren't you masturbating?_

He must have found my surliness amusing, because he cracked a smile. "Today was the first day I'd seen you at lunch."

"I'd been dining... elsewhere." Like in detention.

"But today you didn't?" His smile turned to a smirk. "For three-quarters of lunch, anyhow."

"Wow, you must be some kind of mind reader."

"Whatcha doin' out here?"

I waved my book. "I was planning on reading."

He tipped his head back purposefully, giving the sky a long look. "It's gonna rain."

"Thank you for that broadcast, Jim Cantore."

"You wanna get your book wet by reading in the rain?"

"Well," I held a palm out as if catching raindrops, "it doesn't seem to be raining _quite_ yet."

His eyes worked their way down and back up, lingering longer on my boobs. "You've got a smart mouth."

"I know. There's a matching brain too."

"What do you think I've got?"

"What?"

"Come on now." He kicked his feet back and forth on his windowsill. "Humor me."

"I heard you're failing English Lit." _Among other classes._

Edward Cullen didn't seem fazed. "My teacher has it out for me."

"Aha!" I pointed a finger at him. "I _knew_ I couldn't be the only one going through that!"

He kept his gaze on me, not speaking.

_Fine then. Be a turd._

"I'm just gonna..." I gestured toward the lawn chair sitting in the middle of the grass. "Go read."

"I'm just gonna..." He lifted something from between his legs. "Nibble on this some."

"Okay then."

"Okay then."

I rolled my eyes at his childish mirroring.

It couldn't be helped, the way my eyes drifted back to him once I'd plopped into the plastic chair.

The thing he'd picked up turned out to be a pudding cup. A chocolate one.

I squinted, making out what appeared to be three layers. _Double _chocolate pudding cup.

Yum to the horny moan.

Ignoring me, he ripped off the little foil covering.

Two seconds away from me asking how he planned to eat it since I didn't see a spoon, he stuck his tongue out.

Stuck it out and _right_ into the chocolatey goodness.

He licked as he turned the container, so he always had a fairly even layer.

A quickly depleting even layer.

Rather desperately, I wanted to be that pudding.

To have his tongue lapping at me like that.

Whatever shred of focus I might have been holding onto, blew to England when he neared the bottom of the plastic cup.

I thought for sure he'd resort to his fingers for the rest.

And I wasn't opposed to seeing his fingers do that.

But did he?

No.

Did he disappoint by not using his fingers?

_Hell _no.

Because, it turned out, Edward Cullen's little secret was a tongue as long as his dick.

Figuratively speaking and for embellishment purposes only, of course. No tongue could compare to his dick.

He didn't actually _need_ to use his fingers to get the last scraps of pudding.

His tongue could _reach_ down to them.

My vision settled resolutely on him. If aliens had landed two feet from me, I wouldn't have seen them.

I didn't care if—more probably _that_—he knew his actions had transfixed me.

I was too gone for such caring.

Too far in the land of lust.

Excess saliva pooled in my mouth at the images Edward Cullen and his pudding inspired.

And that wasn't the only place pooling had begun.

Soon, _all_ too soon, he'd licked the container dry.

_Wish he'd lick something _else_ dry..._

"Well, I got some homework I need to finish."

I either moaned or nodded, I wasn't sure which.

"Wanna come study with me?"

I blinked. Stupidly. "I finished my homework in free period."

His chuckle was deep but not really one of laughter. "Sounds like you need something better to do with your free period."

* * *

**A/N: I want some pudding now. Anyone else? Also, shooting for not-quite-a-week again, heh.**


	6. Googly Eyes and Pointy Teeth

**A/N: Short and late. Alas, I see a sad pattern.**

**Without you, Kettlebets, none of this would be. And I wouldn't smile or laugh half as much as I do.**

**Rya, I'm always so glad to know you and be your Beeth.**

**A little photo inspiration for this chap, heh: ****http:/bit[.]ly/g44iCl**

**Disclaimer: I own quite a bit of new things as of late. Twilight fits in there nowhere.**

**

* * *

**

"You need a ride?"

"Nope."

"Alice picking you up?"

"Yup."

"Am I gonna get a call about you being tardy?"

I stared. Not amused. "When have I been tardy?"

"This semester or this year?"

"Har freaking har." I bit into my chocolate Pop-Tart. A little savagely. "_Bye_, Dad."

"Alright, then. See you later. And I better not get a call."

He walked out the door in the middle of my impolite grumble.

Another Pop-Tart later and I'd begun to tap my fingers against the counter. Fifteen more seconds, and then I'd light Alice's phone on fire.

Figuratively.

With three seconds to spare, she skittered into my driveway.

I said skittered because she drove a VW _Bug_ from a thousand decades ago.

The paint job was three different colors, the space cramped, but it was a _car_. And it _ran_.

You couldn't be picky when it came to transportation before your twenties.

I pulled the door shut with more force than required. "You're late."

"And you're wearing heels today."

"Decided to celebrate the ridiculously-warm winter day, instead of rolling my eyes at Mother Nature." I looked down at the black peep-toes with white detailing. "You like?"

"If I didn't have a boyfriend with an impossible sex-drive, I'd pull this car over and do you right now."

"They _do_ make my legs look really long."

"Especially in that skirt."

"Okay, I forgive you for being late."

Decal snorted, hands switching on the steering wheel. "Compliments: a best friend's best friend."

"Ooh, that's nice."

"Thank you."

"You should market that."

"Maybe later." She turned onto the street of the school. "So how was the Mango Fest? I forgot to ask before."

"Lame. As fucking always."

"I heard Edward Cullen was there."

Where was she going with this? "He's failing world history."

"I heard you guys were talking."

"Before eight in the morning and already you've got the town gossip. Amazing."

"I've got connections." She grinned as we heaved out of Buggy G.

"Oh, I'm sure."

"Same Edward Cullen who was staring at you the other day."

"Nice to meet you, Captain Obvious."

"Something you wanna tell me?"

"Like what?"

"Like why he was eyeballing you and why you two were talking."

"_We_ weren't talking. My dad was talking to his mom."

Students were crowding toward the building, no one anxious to be early on a day like this. We lingered back, waiting for it to thin down.

"And what about him in the lunch room the other day?"

"He's weird? I don't know, Decal. I don't pretend to understand him."

Her eyes narrowed at me. "You talk like you know more than you're saying."

"I do?"

"Yes. And you talk like you know _him_ more than you're saying."

_Probably because I've seen him naked and masturbating._

She let out an annoyed breath when I didn't respond. "It's rude to keep secrets from your best friend, ya know. Lady Di would be disappointed."

"I love you."

"Disappointed. Severely. Lady Di."

"Uh-huh," I mumbled, pretty much ignoring her now. Something had caught my eye in the gathering of people.

A hat.

Weird and dorky and eye-catching—obviously.

It smoothed through the throng of hormones, the body attached to it stopping occasionally.

I couldn't see the owner, to see if I knew them. Which I probably would.

Small town and all.

I knew I'd never seen that hat before, though. I'd have remembered it.

Whoever wore it had turned it around, sporting the classic backwards-baseball-cap.

Only, it wasn't _just_ a baseball cap.

The brim was wider, for one.

For two, it had googly eyes set on a red background.

And an open mouth—tongue and pointy teeth included—spanning from the actual hat portion, to the brim.

I couldn't figure out what about it stole my attention, perked my eyes, aroused my senses.

Maybe just the uniqueness.

And the fact that most everyone at Forks High was generally pretty bland.

That hat was _not_ bland.

I really had to know who it was sporting it. Had to know like my own name and address.

Like knowing fractions and where England was.

My shoe-size and self-defense, phone number and time of the month.

"I think we've lost her, Doctor."

I blinked Decal back into focus. "What?"

"Oh hi there. Good to see you again."

I faked an exasperated eyeroll. "You're so weird."

"You love me." She poked my arm. "Now, tell me why you zoned out."

"Hat."

"What?"

"Nine o' clock. Intriguing hat."

I watched her neck crane, realized a second before she did that she wouldn't be able to see it.

I was 5'7" in my heels of today.

Alice had on cute flats.

"Dammit! Life is shit if you're short."

"Wanna get on my shoulders?"

"I have a Taser in my purse."

"I've got some Tic-Tacs in mine. Would they calm you down, midget?"

She showed me her teeth. "Keep it up, and I'll Taser your pretty ass."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Wanna bet?"

"I never bet against you."

"There's your answer."

She tried jumping up, but still couldn't see.

"If only you could fly."

"Taser. I swear, gay-hole."

"Maybe they'll move to a place where you can see."

Her eyes gave up searching to look at me. "Wait. _They?_ You don't know who's under this hat?"

"That would be a no."

"So I can't see it, and you don't know."

"Sounds about right."

"We're so screwed."

"You're the only one getting _that_ regularly."

Her laugh broke any tension, and she launched us into the ruckus.

We tailed the hat down Forks High's main hallway.

Well, _I_ tailed the hat. Decal tailed me.

"You are so lucky we have the same first class."

"Whyever would you say that?"

She swatted my ass. "Is it just me, or is school especially brimming?"

"Bake sale today."

"Ohhh. Right." I couldn't hear our footsteps over the chatter. "Sweet and sugary sh-... uff brings the masses to school."

I grinned, eyes not leaving their target. "Nice save."

"Shut it. Can you still see the hat?"

"Yup. Got it in my sniper scopes."

"Word. Can you tell where it's headed?"

"Kind of..." I sorted through my mental blueprint of the school. "Yeah, kind of looks like target is advancing toward first-period Geography."

"That's our first class."

"Now, the question is, what eligible candidates are in that first class of ours?"

"Does it look like a guy's hat?"

"Kinda. Definitely."

"Okay, lemme think."

I didn't glance away from my mark, but knew Decal's eyes would be shut and head turned toward the ceiling as she concentrated.

"Mike, Gerald, Eric, Pete, Edward, and Ronnie." She'd listed them in order of their seats in the class, front to where we always sat: the back.

"I couldn't really see Mike or Ronnie wearing it."

"I don't know what it looks like, but I can't ever picture Edward wearing a hat. He's too proud of his hair."

Sounded fairly true.

But the walk of the Hatter seemed familiar. As did—or so my brain had convinced me to think—the cluster of hair leaking out the sides of it.

"You okay?"

We'd almost caught up. I knew Decal was watching me instead of our prey, since she had yet to comment on seeing the hat.

"What?"

"You seem... lost." Her hand touched my arm.

Softly.

Letting me know she was there.

That I could talk.

That everything didn't have to be bottled up.

"I'm not lost." It seemed obvious; how did she _not_ know it?

Her hand retracted. "Hose to the wet shirt."

"_What?_"

"You!" We stopped outside the door to our first class, and she pointed her index finger at me. "You're freaking attracted to _an article of clothing_!"

I squirmed away from her gaze. "Maybe."

"You are!" Her voice dropped. "Is your, um, situation _uncomfortable_?"

That was a code-phrase from long ago.

I sucked my lip into my mouth, making teeth imprints in it. Nervous habit.

"Okay, yeah. Totally is."

She gasped, putting her hand over her mouth and everything.

Then it was gone, and all of a sudden she was a smug little midget in cute flats. "Look who's the weird one now."

"Mr. Chen is going on our hit list."

"Without a doubt."

"Take off your hat in class? How stupid!"

"Don't suppose you happened to get a glance of it anywhere?" My voice was hopeful.

"Nope, not one."

"Shit."

"Better watch for Principal Greene, if I were you."

I shoved excess books in my locker, rolling my eyes. "I'm not gonna live in fear of him."

"Uh huh."

"I love your confidence."

"Why weren't you checking out laps in class?"

I froze, my blinking eyelids the only thing moving. "Say what?"

"Checking laps for _the hat_, you gutter-lover."

"I wasn't checking packages. Though hey, what a good idea."

"I'm going to laugh my rear off when you get caught."

I gave her a _polite_ gesture. "Why weren't _you_ checking laps then, hmm?"

"I have a boyfriend. If it starts getting around that I was checking out other guys'..." Her eyes had gone wide.

"What? Something wrong?"

"Holy Pope's toilet!"

"You're scaring me."

"It'd make him so jealous! And then..." She did some swallowing. "Oh wow."

"I kind of hate you."

"Whatever. And I'm so gonna try this out."

"Tomorrow." I considered banging my head on my locker. "_Please_ tell me you'll do it tomorrow. And sometime when I'm not around."

"Sheesh. You're grumpy when you haven't gotten any."

"I haven't gotten any in a year."

"Exactly my point." She shoved her palm toward my face. "And _don't_ go where I know you were about to go."

"No one likes a mind reader, ya know."

We shuffled toward our second class together. After it, we wouldn't see each other till lunch, and then until we met in the parking lot.

"Think whoever it is will wear the hat again today?" Her voice sounded as hopeful as mine had.

"Fuck, I hope so."

"Ms. Swan!"

Decal and I both snapped our heads around, seeing P-Greene standing by the water fountain. It appeared he was attempting to sternly stare me down, but the water dribbling from his chin significantly weakened his glare.

"Yes, sir?"

Decal started to choke, then rushed right past me to the ladies room.

I heard her laughs through the wall.

* * *

**A/N: I seem to be unable to stop setting deadlines for myself. Even when I fail them. So: nother update by next Friday, I hope**.

**Thank you so much for reading. :)**


	7. Chemistry

**A/N: Trevvy, you are the Harry to my Draco. No no, the Draco to my Harry. Because _I'm_ in the innocent one.**

**Rachel, you are my favorite bagel.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own coffee cake. Or Twilight.**

* * *

I met up with my traitor best friend again at lunch.

"What, no detention today?" She lifted her eyebrows once at me, smirking.

I glared at her. And followed it up with an eyeroll. "Tomorrow."

Her laugh was abrupt and genuine, and caused a couple stares.

"You didn't happen to see the hat on anyone while you were gone, did you?"

"No," I sighed as we headed through the lunch-line. "You?"

"Nope. Unfortunately."

"We'll just have to keep looking."

"That's the spirit."

"I can be quite determined when I want."

"I know you can." She handed me a Coke. "It'd probably help though if I'd actually _seen_ this mystical hat so I knew exactly what I was searching for."

"Valid point."

We plopped our trays and asses down at the nearest open table, staring at each other for a beat.

"Look around the cafeteria?"

I grinned. "You scan the west, I'll take the east."

"Deal."

Our heads twisted, necks craning, eyes searching.

"Well shit." Another sigh escaped. "No luck for me."

"You'd pee your pants if I told you PG was standing right behind you."

I whipped around, seeing only students.

Alice just laughed when I turned back and threw a glare her way.

"You're evil and mean and cruel."

"Yet you still love me. Whacko."

I stuck my tongue out at her and ate a French fry. "Eat your food. I've got chemistry homework to finish."

"Forget about it last night?"

"Yes." Sighing seemed to be favored pastime today.

"Too busy playing with your pet butterfly, eh?"

"_Alice!_" I threw the fry halfway to my mouth at her.

She giggled, using her hands to form a halo above her head. "What?"

"If PG was any smarter," I leaned down and pulled my chemistry book from my bag, "you'd have detention too."

"He's standing right behind you."

"I see you drivin' 'round town, with the girl I love, and I'm like..." I sang under my breath while looking deliberately at her, instead of saying the words outright.

_Just _in case PG did happen to be lurking around somewhere.

"Ooouch." Decal held a hand over her heart and faked a wounded expression.

"Now shut up. I've got to finish this before sixth period."

She saluted, banging a foot on the tiled floor for dramatic emphasis. "Yes, ma'am!"

Smiling, I focused on my homework, losing myself and my surroundings in the unchangeable bliss of science.

A hissed _Bella_ accompanied a sharp jab to my shin, snapping me out of my chemistry-induced fog.

"Ow!" I looked up at Decal, glaring daggers and icicles and rocket launchers and other harmful things at her. I'd probably have a bruise tomorrow. "What the—"

The air seemed to shift, and without thinking about it I _knew_ what the hell had been up with her enough to kick me.

"Need some help?"

I swallowed thickly at the voice, too close to my ear. Breath too enticing. Compulsive desire to turn in his direction too strong.

I couldn't see him, but I could feel him behind me.

Feel his chin an inch away from my shoulder.

Feel all the warmth of him _so close_ to touching my back.

Feel his hand stir, probably pulling out of a pocket.

My nerves were on such an edge, I almost jumped when he braced his hand on the table, a cough of movement away from brushing against mine.

His face shifted even closer, now aligning with my own, both of us looking down at my chemistry book.

I could have sworn the roughness of his scruff brushed against my soft cheek at one point.

But I had no idea if that was reality or wishful thinking.

"Ahh. Chemistry homework."

A part of me wanted his other hand to mirror his first, to press his front completely against my back.

Caging me, totally surrounding me.

"I'm quite good at chemistry."

Nothing on the page was visible to me right now, and I still hadn't looked at him.

"Thanks, but no thanks. I don't need any help." I almost wanted to cheer; my voice hadn't sounded as shaky as I felt.

"I'm offering."

"I noticed."

"And you're denying me?" The _yet again_ was heavy in his tone.

I didn't know what to think anymore, or even what to feel. My brain had become scrambled eggs.

"Are you?"

His prompting words brought me back, made me realize I hadn't actually answered him.

"It would appear so."

He breathed quietly onto my neck and the bottom of my ear, disappearing from me without another word.

And I hadn't even ever seen his face.

Couldn't tell if he'd been smiling or pursing his lips when he'd walked off.

I _definitely _had no clue what to make of whatever that had just been.

Some things were just better left unanalyzed. Sometimes better if you just didn't _think_ about them much at all.

"Whoa, dude." I glanced up at Decal's words, taking note of her wide eyes and open mouth. "Watching that was like..."

"Watching what?"

She gestured hastily to me, exasperated. "_That!_"

"Oh. _That. _Yeah." I faked clearing my throat.

"Yeah, _that_." She breathed deep. "It was like... Holy _socks_, Bella! That was like watching a," her voice lowered as she leaned across the table toward me, "a PG-13 porno."

"_What_?" I understood what she meant, completely. But if she could detect those notes from just that one interaction...

Not good.

"It was subtle and not even really very much at all, not by itself." I almost laughed when she literally waved her hand at herself, using it as a fan. "But sitting here and seeing it, watching it, picking up that weird tension between you two, it was _charged_."

"Charged?"

"Oh boy, was it ever!" My best friend was such a dork. "Who knew that subtle thing could be so effing sexy, ya know?"

I let out a single, laughed breath. "Yeah, who knew."

She started looking around the cafeteria, scanning and obviously searching for someone.

All while still fanning herself.

"Looking for Jazzermeister?"

"Fuck yeah!" Her fan-hand slapped over her mouth as the words tumbled out, eyes moving back and forth swiftly and guiltily.

And really really funnily.

"Relax, Decal," I managed through laughs and chuckles. "Pea-Greene's not behind you."

Her hand fell away. "Thank fu-... -dge!"

"Goody two-shoes." But my smile was fond and aimed at her.

"You're lucky he's not here, by they way. You know how much he hates that name."

"Who?"

She threw me a pointed look. "Jazzermeister."

I snorted, remembering how trashed he'd gotten when he'd earned himself that nickname. "Yeah, well I don't see him here."

"Lucky for you, _unlucky_ for me."

[~|~|~]

Decal was late.

School was out, and she was _late_.

I wasn't sure how that even happened, or why she was late in the first place. I'd be damned if I was gonna go searching all over school for her, though.

She'd come to me if I just waited in plain sight.

"Don't mind if I do," I told the stubby wall next to the parking lot. Settling down on it, I opened my messenger bag and pulled out my latest batch of chemistry homework.

If I started it now, maybe I wouldn't wind up scrambling to get it done tomorrow at lunch.

_Lunch. Chemistry._

A shiver slithered up my spine with the memory.

I pushed everything away, forcing my eyes to my textbook, willingly losing myself in it.

Just as I had at lunch.

"You know, sitting on cold concrete will give you hemorrhoids."

My body tensed, startled out of my daze, recognizing that voice.

Sparking at it.

Even when my brain was doing nothing but rolling its metaphorical eyes.

"No, that's kidney infections it gives you."

He threw a long leg over the low wall, effectively straddling it and focusing right on me.

I didn't turn to him, but in my peripheral I could see him staring at me.

And not saying much of anything in reply to my witty kidney comeback.

"I didn't need help with my chemistry homework at lunch, and I don't need it now."

The similarities between what had happened then, and my current situation, weren't lost on me.

I suspected my chemistry book had it out for me, somehow summoning Edward Cullen to interrupt whenever I opened it for studying. The evil thing.

"Hm. More chemistry homework?"

"Yeah, teachers tend to give you more at the end of the day."

"And you're sure you don't need any help?"

"That's still a no." I didn't even so much as glance at him. "A definite one."

I felt him shift closer, seeing the movement out of the corner of my eye. "Positive?" He rolled the word out teasingly, spending more time on the first syllable.

"Didn't I just say I was definitely sure?"

"I don't know, I was distracted." I could see his hand, palm flat on the stone underneath. So close to touching me.

But not going the extra distance.

I hated that I couldn't think of anything to say, that I let the first stupid thing slip out. "Distracted?"

Closer still.

"Didn't I just say that?"

Annoyed at having that thrown back at me, I finally looked at him.

Mistake.

I lost myself even more doing it. As shallow as it totally made me.

_Fuck, he's pretty._

"You waiting for someone?" He smirked a little, as if trying to keep it small.

"You know I am."

"How would I know that?"

I didn't have to fake my eyeroll. "Because you're not stupid."

"I'm pleased you think so."

"Ugh, you're so slimy!"

"You like it."

I ignored that completely. "And because you're not stupid—an idiot maybe, but not stupid—you _know_ I wouldn't be sitting here if I wasn't waiting for someone."

"I had deduced as much, yes."

Grabbing at the spine of my chemistry textbook, I fought to keep from showing how annoyed I was. "Then why'd you bother asking?"

"Because you hate rhetorical questions."

"Button-pusher," I muttered quietly.

I was so busy being irritated and confused and frustrated, I didn't even see his hand creeping forward.

But I sure as hell _felt _it when he snuck underneath my skirt, just the very tips of three fingers brushing the bare skin of my outer thigh.

My head was on a string, a puppet being snapped to his gaze.

Something dangerous and unidentified flowed between us, clenching in my abdomen.

"Bella! Oh my ugh. It was like every person from here to the Atlantic wanted to stop and talk in the hall today! Made the trek from—"

Decal's river of words froze mid-rush when she saw who I was sitting next to.

Who I'd just been locking eyes with.

I had no idea what it'd looked like from the outside, and her expression didn't help me at all.

"It's fine, Decal. I just started in on some chemistry while waiting."

"I'll say you did," she grumbled low in her throat. I pulled my lips into my mouth, mashing on them to keep from snickering. "Well, are we leaving or what?"

"Yup, sure thing!" I hopped up all too quickly, snatching my bag and holding my book in front of me.

"Bye, Bella."

I felt it in my stomach (and other places) when he said my name like that.

Looking to the side as Decal and I walked toward Buggy G, I called, "Later."

It wasn't exactly smooth, but I couldn't take it back now, anyway.

All I could think about were his fingers, his touch, his legs, his body, his eyes, his smirk, his mouth, his hair dancing to the lazy beat of the wind.

"Well _that_ was interesting."

"What?"

Decal licked her lips aggressively. "You're not even listening to me, are you?"

I hadn't noticed we'd shuffled into the car. "I'm sorry! What did you say?"

"You're my best friend."

She didn't continue, so I answered her non-question question. "Yes. And you're mine." I touched her forearm, connecting us in a small way, solidifying us. "You already knew that. Why do we need to reiterate it?"

Her laugh wasn't amused, and scared me a bit. "_Because_. You're being weird."

"That's nothing new."

"It is when you keep secrets from me."

I inhaled sharply, not expecting her to have gone there.

"You _never_ used to keep secrets." That was true. So true. "You never used to be able to stand it."

Again, nothing but true.

"I'm worried about you. Worried about the fact that you seem okay with secrets now."

"Alice..." I didn't know where to start, and I knew this wouldn't go away. She wasn't the type to shake her head and tell me to forget it. She was a _solver_, one who faced their problems instead of hiding from them.

"If you don't want to tell me, I guess-... I guess I can understand that." She nodded determinedly, and I knew she was being completely honest. "But don't try to pretend you're not, don't avoid my questions or keep me out or shake me off."

Her head turned, looking directly at me.

I saw worry, and such total, unhindered and nonjudgmental love I couldn't help but crumble.

"I've seen Edward Cullen naked and masturbating and I kind of keep stalking outside his bedroom window so I can continue seeing him naked and masturbating but I have no idea what happened to start with him pursuing and chasing me and I don't know what the hell is up between us but it's scary and good and fuck me if I don't enjoy every single second and tingle of it."

Desperately, I sucked in air. My lungs definitely didn't appreciate blurted and jumbled and mumbling run-on sentences.

Judging by Decal's partially blank face, I figured she didn't appreciate them either.

"Wait wait _wait_. _What?_"

I shifted, fingers moving to tangle together in my lap. "Uh, yeah."

"No no no, repeat! Some of it. I'm..." She shook her head, hair flying out of form. "Confused."

"Which part?"

"Just..." She exhaled heavily. "Oh boy. Just clarify for me as I try to get this straight, alright?"

I nodded quickly, hardly even realizing I was doing it. "Okay, I can do that."

"Alright." Decal rolled her shoulders as she turned in her seat to face me. "Let's start from the beginning."

"Beginning?" I wasn't sure I even remembered that anymore.

"Yes. Beginning. You've been letting out your inner peeping tom with Edward Cullen?"

"Peeping Tina, thank you very much. But yes."

"And in doing this you've..." She gulped, and her eyes got a little far-away.

"Seen him naked and jerking off?" I grinned.

She sounded like she choked, and I could only grin more. "Yes. That."

"Yup."

"And why the hell didn't you video record it?"

I laughed, abruptly and so genuine and free and _good_.

Why hadn't I told Alice before? I could see now how right it was to share with her.

"I don't know, didn't think of it?"

"Selfish bitch," she muttered before perking back up. "Wait though, you said you didn't know what happened that made him start..." Her hands waved impatiently, clearly at a loss for what to call the change.

"Nope, not a clue."

"Could he have... Seen you?"

Oh shit. I hadn't thought of that before. "I hope to hell that isn't it!"

"Well why not?"

"For one, it's embarrassing! For two, it doesn't make any sense. He knows I peep on him, so he decided to... start whatevering?"

"True, doesn't make too much sense." She stared at me closely. "Are you sure he wouldn't have seen you sometime?"

"I'm pretty sure, at least." My voice turned grumbling, "Although lately there hasn't been any chance for him to catch me."

"What?"

I let out some breath and faced her more easily. "Lately, he's been doing... Well, kinda what he does here at school. Only, when I go to sneak up on his window and peep at him."

"Are you saying he's having charged moments with you outside his bedroom, instead of masturbating?"

"Yeah. At least, on the times when I go to peep he hasn't been wanking the bank. He used to be on a sorta schedule, right? I got it down pat at one point. And then _bam_." I slapped my palm against the top of my fist. "He stops. Nothing. Nada."

Decal's head banged roughly against the headrest, one eye peeking open at me. "How was it?

"How was what?"

She reached over and flicked my forehead, eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Don't play that. Now that you've spilled your coffee beans, you better fucking share the barista boy."

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**A/N: Next update is shooting for the eighteenth, heh. I love each and every one of you who's still on this ride. :)**


	8. Itches and Invites

**A/N: Late again, heh. Sorry would be tiring. So just ignore me and read.  
**

**M'dear Cubby, I flove you tons. Even more than boysecks, finding various nicknames for you, _and_ gifs. Js.**

**Rya Soulmate, your sharing of your nipple-itching habits only makes me love you more.**

* * *

You ever had your nipple kind of just... itch?

Like, literally _itch_.

Not really a bug bite, but not exactly your eyeball itching either.

Nipple itches were a thing all unto themselves. And my left nipple _really_ fucking itched right now.

In the middle of AP biology.

Go figure.

_Excuse me, Mr. Banner? I have a question. Since you're the biology teacher and all. Why does my nipple itch at the moment?_

I moved my left arm over toward my right hand, cracking my knuckles as I covertly tried to soothe the itch by rubbing my arm slightly.

No go.

My thick sweater—thanks to Mother Nature's tomfuckery coming to an end—probably wasn't helping, either.

I tried the same thing with the opposite arm, but still nothing.

The itchy bugger wasn't giving up, feeling so stubborn I feared the only way to make it stop would be to stick my fingers inside my sweater, shirt _and_ bra.

Which would probably not be a good idea. Considering I was in class and stuff.

Another non-help: I'd asked for a bathroom break ten minutes into class. There was no way Banner would settle for that excuse.

I slouched and wiggled on my stool, an effort to get my boob to graze against the counter and relieve me.

My attempt only succeeded in making things worse.

"Mr. Cullen!"

As if that name was somehow connected to the mechanics of my neck, my head snapped up from nipple-itch worries.

"I'm in the middle of a class, Mr. Cullen." Banner gestured toward us, mouth set in the universal displeased-teacher manner.

Standing halfway between the door and Banner's frumpy desk, Edward Cullen glanced from him to the class, smirking just a little.

I lost all sense of... _sense_.

All ability to breathe.

Or think.

Or pretty much do anything any normal human being would do.

"I know, but you said you wanted to talk to me, and I have free period right now so..." He shrugged his straight, sturdy-looking shoulders.

Somehow, I managed to continue functioning.

Breathing and seeing and controlling my filter and hearing the conversation happening in front of me and all that nifty stuff.

Hell if I actually _knew_ how I did those things, though.

Because seeing Edward Cullen in that fucking _hat_ had pretty much killed me flat dead, shoved me in an incinerator, and sprinkled my ashes from a plane.

I'd wanted it to be him. Now that I knew it _was_ him, I could admit that to myself.

And maybe for more than convenience.

Maybe, I'd wanted it to be him so that he'd stand alone.

Be the only one to create such an attraction, draw, pull in me.

Whatever the reasons, I couldn't deny the force of _want_ slamming into me from what felt like all sides, all avenues.

All corners of everywhere.

I blinked abruptly, haze falling from my eyes and ears tuning back in.

"No," Banner was saying, head shaking quickly. "That is _not_ how it works."

Even from my distance, I could see Edward Cullen's eyebrows lift. "Really? But you said..."

"_Mr. Cullen_." The words were quietly sharp, and the person in question snapped his teeth together as his mouth closed. "We can continue this after school. In the middle of my class is not an appropriate place, I would think you'd know."

"I'm sorry I'm not _appropriate_," and was it just me or did that word definitely have laced tones in cahoots with the way his eyes shifted sideways to me, "but I've got—"

Banner cleared his throat, staring at him pointedly and apparently done with this, admittedly odd, conversation.

"Right." Edward Cullen turned, eyes moving over me as he did.

He smiled, stuck his hands in the pockets of dark jeans, and left the room without another word.

A strong part, a really really strong—Herculean, even—part of me wanted to hop off my uncomfortable stool and rush after him.

Maybe tackle him into a janitor's closet or a bathroom or just plain to the floor.

Of course, after that tackling, very dirty, naughty, _delicious_ things would occur.

I squirmed on my seat, seeing it play out like a movie behind my eyes, but knowing I couldn't press play.

Not now, not here, not yet.

Dammit.

Now I had an itch that was much, _much_ worse.

[~|~|~]

Decal was making out with a blond when I finally emerged from a living hell of horniness and got to the lunch room. I could only assume it was her Jazzermeister, being that I couldn't see his face.

I dropped my plate on the table, climbing over the bench to sit. I was one throat-clearing away from actually hacking up a lung when they finally separated to acknowledge me.

"Hi."

"Yeah, hi yourself, horoscope. You've got spit on your chin."

Horrified, she swiped at her chin with the back of her hand, glaring when she came up empty. "Not nice."

"Well neither is making out in front of me like two starved horndogs." I didn't care that I was whiney.

Okay, I didn't care _that much_.

"Jabberwocky, you've got lipstick all over your mouth."

"Nice tr—" His words stopped when his fingers met his lips and he felt what I could see.

Decal grinned. "Oops."

"Slob," he muttered, wiping his mouth on the wrist of his hoodie.

I noticed smudged ink-drawings on his palm with the action, and couldn't fight a smile.

Even though I tried.

Hard.

Aw fuck. _Hard_.

Double dammit.

I shoved my plate away and took to banging my head where it'd just been, instead.

"You seem busy. Maybe Pooky and I should leave you and the table alone."

"At the risk of wasting yet another happy snack time sitting in detention, I won't flip you off." I stared up at her from my arms. "But I am in my head. With both hands. Maybe my toes, too."

"Okay okay, sheesh. I won't do the Pooky thing again."

"Please don't," Jazz chimed in.

"You guys are such nitpicky buttlickers."

I opened my eyes again. "Pouting isn't gonna get you anywhere, Decal."

She sounded like a pig snuffling, the way she huffed indignantly. "I just can't win today."

"You can win later, alright?" I watched, sickened and intrigued and a little jealous as Jasper's fingers stroked across her chin, thumb brushing her cheek tenderly.

"You are _such_ a sap," I grumbled.

"He's also horn to the New York."

There was silence between us, before both he and I finally got it.

Really, the lengths we went to in an effort to keep things relatively clean were ridiculous.

While usually always amusing, sometimes I just got annoyed with having a fucking code-term _just_ for 'horny'.

"But I'm always that, sugar."

"My ears," I groaned dramatically. "I need bleach for them."

He tipped his blond brows at me. "You have to admit, sugar is an improvement over pooky."

"A minor one."

"If wishes were horses, beggars would ride."

"Don't spout your wise words to me, Yoda."

"Shut up. I like them," Decal interrupted, picking up a Funyun primly.

"Oh, by the way, did I tell you Edward Cullen is the owner of _the hat_?"

Alice froze comically, food halfway to her face and mouth wide open.

It was kinda mean, the way I took such pleasure in dropping bombs on her like this.

"Ooookay. I think that's my cue to ditch." Jasper slid up from the table, leaning over—hand on her neck—and kissing Alice's forehead. "I'll see _you_ later, Cheech."

She was still sort of frozen, but made a noise that sounded like agreement.

"Tata, Jazzermeister." I waved, enjoying the way he bared his teeth and pretended to bite at me as he walked away.

I loved to piss that guy off. Mostly because he and Decal were amazing together, and annoying the shit out of him was my way of acknowledging that fact.

Or so I justified my fun of messing with him.

When I focused back on the situation at hand, my best friend had thawed.

And in the process seemed to have lost a couple of the bolts holding her brain together.

Her hands were flat on the tabletop, elbows bent and neck stretched toward me, eyes still just as wide and bulging out of their sockets as ever.

"Spill. Before I reach across this table and beat it out of you."

[~|~|~]

"Bella?" my dad called into the house, surprising me and blessedly interrupting the monotony of math homework. "I'm home."

"Hey, Dad, I'll be down in a sec!" I closed up all my homework, arranging it in the way I liked on my desk. Throwing on a t-shirt over my bra, I headed downstairs.

Dad was sitting in a chair at the kitchen table when I walked in.

Not usually ever a good sign.

He didn't waste time strolling around the bush. "I got a visit from Mrs. Cope today." He held up a paper. "She gave me this."

I strode over quickly, snatching it from him and scanning it. "She made a freaking _excel sheet_ on my school failures?"

Detentions, mark-ups, warnings, any seen short-comings, notes from staff and Pea Greene. But had she put a single thing about any successes? About my good grades even in the three AP courses I was taking? About my not-too-shabby scores on SATs?

Of course not. Because where would the point be in _that_?

I wanted to grit my teeth, to curse and throw something. Preferably something breakable. "She needs a hobby!"

"Hey now, she was concerned about you when she came in."

"Knitting, or Jeopardy, or breeding Chihuahuas—"

"Bella."

"Or planting potatoes, or jam-making, or even getting a boyfriend in some nursing ho—"

"Isabella!"

I stopped my annoyed and frustrated rant at the sound of my full name. Exactly as my father had probably planned.

"Look at me."

I locked on to his eyes, so similar to my own., below severely un-tweezed brows. Which weren't similar to mine, obviously.

And I waited.

"Yeah, Dad?"

"Do I look mad?"

My eyes stayed on his a moment longer, studying before moving on to check all the usual spots for signs of anger. No indication on his mouth, eyebrows, cheeks, body language, forehead, not even a nose crinkle.

He _wasn't_ mad.

But I was definitely _confused_.

He got up from the chair, coming to stand in front of me. The smile on his face was light and easy, his thumb on my chin like I was five again.

"I'm _proud_ of you, Tinker." Another memory from my childhood. A phase-love of anything _Peter Pan_ related, and an emerging nickname – over the years shortened into easier formats. "Proud of your success, your grades, who you are, who you're becoming. And I'm not worried."

Flicking my chin, he winked and headed for the living room.

"Now, enough sappy syrup stuff. I'm in the mood for a burger and shake, you up for it?"

I swiped quickly at my teary eyes, enjoying the pure happy and love and thankful flowing throughout my system.

Smiling still, I slipped on my Converse near the front door, grabbing a jacket but forgoing my purse. Dad switched his cruiser keys for the pickup's, and we walked out.

Our steps halted on the few stairs, both of us watching Edward Cullen approach from around the side of the house, one hand in a pocket, head down.

And aiming straight for our front porch.

I noted glumly that he wasn't wearing his hat. Probably a good thing, since me salivating over him in front of my dad wouldn't be pleasant for anyone.

"Cullen? Edward Cullen?"

He stopped short, swallowing as he looked at my dad, towering over him some thanks to the porch steps. "Oh. Hi, Chief Swan."

"Can we help you with something?" Dad eyed him in that suspicious way he was rather attached to.

Edward Cullen shifted feet, not daring to break eye contact with the Chief of Police. "I was just coming by to invite Bella to a Christmas get-together at the Hales this Saturday."

I was miffed somehow, yet still amused. "I've already been invited, but thanks."

He glanced to me, finally, eyes lingering longer than usual for a _glance_. All my breath drifted out and away and gone as I caught his stare and held it.

His eyes were intense, forehead creased just slightly in what I could only label as worry. He made me feel open, vulnerable. Laid bare.

Like he could see me. _See_ me.

And as if he knew I'd been crying, yet couldn't tell it'd been a good kind of crying.

So he wondered. And worried.

For me.

"Weren't we both invited?" Dad interrupted, two fingers smoothing his 'stache like he was a badass cop.

I rolled my eyes fondly, fighting the residual shiver from Edward Cullen's look a second ago.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure Mr. Daniel invited you, too."

My gaze roamed back to Edward Cullen at the small sound I'd heard from him. A sigh, maybe?

"I thought so." Dad's fingers left his facial hair in favor of the belt on his uniform. "Think I'll go too."

"Sounds good, Dad."

He gave me a look at the placating tone of my voice. "Watch it."

My mouth grinned on its own. "Are we gonna go or what?"

"Going to dinner?" Edward Cullen piped up.

Dad snapped back to him, apparently having forgotten he was there.

Despite the way his words had sounded, my gut told me he hadn't been fishing for an invite to tag along.

Who in their right mind would _want_ to, anyway?

"Yeah."

"We're going to Mo and Curly's," I added to my father's grudging and guarded answer.

"Ah. Well, have fun." He smiled easily, nerves seeming to evaporate before my eyes. "Chief Swan." He gave a small wave to him. "Bella," a head nod and flex of his eyebrows for me, "see you around."

I didn't miss the deliberate distinction, mentally crossing everything that my dad had failed to catch it.

The goodbyes said, Edward Cullen turned and retraced his steps.

My eyes involuntarily ogled his ass while he did.

When he'd disappeared out of view, Dad and I ambled toward the pickup and climbed in our separate sides. His hand paused as he reached to put the key in the ignition; I could practically _feel_ the debate over how best to word what he wanted to say.

"How well do you know that Cullen kid?"

"Not well." _But if I could actually draw, I'd be able to draw him naked. From memory._

"You don't talk to him at school?"

"Not really. We run in different circles."

"What about—"

"Daaaaad," I mock-groaned, letting my head fall back on the seat. I tilted my face and looked over at him, smile betraying the teasing of my words. "Why the interrogation? _Before _I've even had any ice cream?"

"Fine," he muttered, finally starting the truck. "But don't think this is dropped."

"Never."

"Oh, shut up."

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**A/N: I've started giving mini-teasers in review replies. Or you can PM me. Or stalk me on Twittah. Or smoke signal me. Whatever works for you, loveliness.**


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